The Demigod Diaries
by SilverCyanide
Summary: NOTE: TO BE REWRITTEN/CONTINUED UNDER A NEW TITLE. Keep this posted b/c I like that this title panned out to be canon.  All prophecies must be fulfilled – it is the way of the Fates. 70 years ago, the next Great Prophecy was spoken. Now, in 2079, this Great Prophecy wakes, and it is up to seven brave demigods to save the day. /A story of life, death, and finding oneself./


**Disclaimer: **Mr. Riordan owns the universe; I own my original characters.

**Spoiler warning** for the very end of _The Last Olympian._

**A/N:** Second upload of chapter one. Re-done for quality, though no significant plot chances. Thanks, those who criticized. _

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**All That is Gold Does not Glitter**_  
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Sometimes different is good. Sometimes it's bad. Sometimes it means nothing at all.

My "different" was little things. Swirling letters scrambling along the page. Vases broken in rushed, child-like excitement well past the age they should have been. Large, bird-like things with talons chasing after me.

Which, in the demigod world, isn't all that different.

So I had next to no trouble fitting in at Camp Half-Blood. In fact, it was the only place I'd ever felt accepted – except for one teeny, tiny fact.

I had yet to be claimed.

Yes, it's selfish. The gods are busy and they have all sorts of tedious, immortal duties to fulfill. But you would think after the great stories of the past – after the _promises_ they had made – it wouldn't be nearing the end of my second technical summer. Granted, Hermes' cabin wasn't bad. It was disorganized, even without constant travelers; loot littered the floor, and by 'loot' I mean things of all shapes, sizes, colors, and uses – the children of the God of Thieves tended to grab whatever they could get their hands on.

That was one thing I'd learned at camp: keep you stuff secure, preferably on you, at all times, at least until you were claimed.

My hands flew to my pockets, patting them down out of instinct; everything seemed to be there – not that I had many possessions – but after having a few of the only possessions I owned snatched when I first arrived I leaned you could never be too careful.

With a quick sigh of relief, I moved from my position hopping near a tree stump. I had timed the day well over the summer; the dinner conch blew. I put my shoes back on and headed off to eat.

Before I got very far, though, my alone time was interrupted by a shrill, young voice.

"Oy, Erin!"

I whipped my head around just in time to side step; Rea was running after me at an alarming pace, and had I not moved she would have barreled me over. Again.

Rea was a good-natured girl and all, and I mean that in a literal way; she was a daughter of Demeter, and had a green thumb to boot. I'd once tumbled into bushes this summer during capture the flag, effectively killing them, but one touch from her and they sprang back as if I'd never trampled them.

"Yeah, yeah, I see you," I grumbled. Despite this, my face lightened: it was hard to stay mad at someone with so much childish innocence. "What's up?"

"Where'd you slip off to this afternoon?"

"Meditating." It was a lie – I had too much energy, even for a half-blood, to properly meditate – but I was _supposed_ to be meditating, so it wasn't a whole lie.

Rea eyes me, seeing straight through my words, but she dropped it and picked up another long-debated topic.

"Come sit with me at dinner tonight?" Rea asked, her tone hopeful. I looked at her, arching an eyebrow.

"Uh… no?"

Her face fell.

"I didn't mean it like _that_," I explained, hands moving in circles as I attempted to reason, "but you know we're not allowed to." Rea shrugged.

"Has anybody ever tried, though?" she asked. Before I could wrack my brain, we had arrived at the dining pavilion and she scuttled off, a dark aura hanging over her.

With as much reluctance as always, I sat down at Hermes' table. It wasn't a bad place, even if it wasn't my own – they were the friendliest kids at camp, always welcoming as long as you didn't try and stop their raids, and if you didn't feel like talking one of them always managed to keep the conversation going. A good thing, considering the fact that I was in absolutely no mood for talking. My conversation for the night ended with a muttered offering to the gods – with only a minor mention of wanting to be claimed – until I was all alone again.

Thursday night was uneventful, as always. Exciting things happened on Fridays, which meant people attempted to get to bed at a reasonable hour. Hermes' cabin was always louder than the others, more active, but I settled into my corner bunk with ease and drowned it all out.

It was late when I woke next, as opposed to early; a glowing clock across the room informed me it was just a tad past three.

I wanted to walk.

I have no idea why; I tended to sleep well, despite the constant threat of being pick pocketed. Camp was one of the only safe places I'd ever lived, and with everything going on it never tended to be too hard for me to slip into dreamland and stay there. If I did wake I was rarely restless, so this sudden urge just to _move_ was both invigorating and terrifying.

I knew the Harpies were on guard. I wasn't stupid, they always were, even though the camp hadn't had security problems in nearly seventy years according to Chiron. But this urge – it was too much.

As quietly as possible, I removed my covers, ignoring the shoes I kept under my bunk, and slipped out the door of the cabin. The grass was trampled underfoot, dirt kicking up in whisps as I walked. I had no clue where I was going, but my feet seemed to have some idea as they carried me this way and that. The night was quiet, though not eerily silent, and I sent a quick prayer out of habit in hopes that the Harpies wouldn't get me. I'd been lucky so far, but I was well aware just how easily they could pick up on a scent.

Eventually my brain caught up with my feet, and I realized exactly where I was heading: the dinner pavilion. It seemed an odd place – I wasn't hungry, and I had never made a point to hang out there before – but my feet tread the same path I walked day after day up to the pavilion, and before I could determine why, I had stopped right where the pillars started.

It looked totally, absolutely normal.

So why did it feel so different?

"Erin."

My heart nearly jumped into my throat; the blood in my veins was torn between running cold in fear or rushing so fast it nearly spurt out of my body. Willing with all my might, I turned to see who had spoken.

No one stood. I stared, into the distance at first, then up, and then all around me, but there was no sign than anyone aside from myself had been there. Only once I turned around did I find any difference in the scene around me.

A doll lay on one of the furthest tables, reserved for one of the minor gods. It mimicked my appearance, right down to the scar I had above my eyebrow from a confrontation with some rocks as a child. In its hand was a small, golden goblet.

I must have taken it with me, because the next morning it lay beside me when I woke.

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**Ending A/N: **This is my first PJO fic, first fic in first person, and fic mainly OC-based fic. I ask you, for these reasons, to leave your thoughts and criticisms in a review if you've got a moment to spare, so that I may learn to improve. Thank you, and enjoy the rest of your day at Seaworld.


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